The Dangling Conversation
by Flame Tigress
Summary: What if Alanna had accepted Jon's proposal of marriage and become Queen? How could she have adjusted to a demure life of society and politics?


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Disclaimer: The realm of Tortall and all characters in the "Song of the Lioness" quartet are the creations of Tamora Pierce. The song "The Dangling Conversation" was performed by Simon and Garfunkel, and they probably wrote it, too. Neither is mine.

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Author's Note: This songfic has been sitting on my computer for so long, it's not even funny. I'm talking years. It deals with the question of what if Alanna had said 'yes' to Jon's proposal in the desert and married him?

The words of the song are in the little ~* *~ things. Sorry about the uninspired poetry. It's trying to sound archaic.

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The Dangling Conversation

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~* It's a still-life watercolor

Of the now-late afternoon *~

Alanna of Conté sat back against the soft, brocaded pillows of the couch in the royal study, deeply immersed in her book about the battles of Tortall's first war with Tusaine for the Drell River. It was written by a knight with poetic tendencies; verse was interspersed in the fascinating insider's narrative. Alanna vaguely remembered her own experience in battle, but the memories were too distant and the sun on her face too relaxing to be transported again to the blood-soaked battlefields. Jon was seeking respite from the legal documents in a book as well. Life was sunny, peaceful, and comfortingly dull in the palace – the queen was forced to attend social function after social function, but Alanna was only mildly annoyed by the public attention now. She was almost perfectly content in her adventureless, political life.

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~* As the sun shines through the curtain lace

And shadows wash the room. *~

"Any ambassadors tonight, Jon?" Alanna asked casually, stretching.

"Not a one," he replied. "After the negotiations with Carthak, the coffee bean trade is resuming."

"I'm glad that embargo's been lifted," Alanna said with a smile, raising her own cup of the dark, strong liquid to her lips. "It's excellent. This year was a good one for coffee."

"And not only for the drinkers; it's an economic stimulator. They rely on us for manufactured goods in Carthak, and we rely on them for exotic agriculture."

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~* And we sit and drink our coffee…*~

Alanna rearranged her copious layers of dove-gray skirts…the color was in honor of the deaths of Jonathan's parents, King Roald and Queen Liane. Liane had been frail ever since Roger's attempt to murder her (which Alanna had revealed and foiled by killing Roger). Roald had committed suicide on a hunting trip, deep in his grief for his wife, and made it look like an accident. So Jonathan had inherited the throne, and Alanna, being, as she was, his wife, became queen.

"The year has been quiet in terms of raids from Scanra," Jon commented.

"Which is the only positive thing that can be said about the condition of northern Tortall," Alanna said, "considering how deeply the potato disease is affecting their lives. People are starving, and many farmers are out of work."

"It's all we in the capital can do to try to supply them with enough food to survive," Jon agreed.

All of their conversations were about the state of Tortall. As monarchs, it was what they were most concerned with.

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~* Couched in our indifference

Like shells upon the shore…*~

Alanna sighed and continued reading her book about battles. Jon also resumed his reading of a lengthy volume analyzing various Tortallan rulers.

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~* You can hear the ocean roar *~

The silence, neither easy nor entirely hostile, reigned until Jonathan remarked, "There hasn't been much snowfall this winter. We may have to prepare for sustaining the country through a summer of drought."

"No king has ever had a simple reign," Alanna said, smiling slightly, breathing another small sigh.

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~* In the dangling conversation 

And the superficial sighs –*~

Jon returned the hint of a smile. "I should know, reading this book. Tortall, being the sizable realm it is, has never been an easy kingdom to rule."

Alanna smoothed her fancy skirts and returned to the battlefield of the Drell River.

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~* The borders of our lives.

And you read your Emily Dickinson,

And I my Robert Frost…*~

Alanna's wandering mind lazily reflected on her relationship with Jon since her own battles on that river. She remembered the tenderness between the crown prince and his squire…their first night together, on her seventeenth birthday…warm nights with him in the desert that was so cold at night…her overjoyed consent to his proposal of marriage there in the desert…

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"The Horror of the Battlefield, –

The Clashing of steel on Murderous Steel,

The sight and stench of dead Life's Blood –

Hold one in as Deep a Trance, –

A Nightmarish trance, –

As does Dream-like Joy –."

Alanna, like Jon across from her, continued her engrossing reading.

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~* And we note our place with bookmarkers

That measure what we've lost…*~

There was silence again; there wasn't really anything to say.

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"and I fear less the Loss of my Life

Than the Loss of my Love, my fair Lady; – 

It is the Fear that I may never again see her Face, –

Her Sweet Moon-like Beauty, –

That brings my Fear of Death

On these Bloody Banks –."

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~* Like a poem poorly written,

We are verses out of rhythm,

Couplets out of rhyme,

In syncopated time…*~

"If we could write like this fellow, then the records of the most recent war with Tusaine over the Drell would be much more interesting," Alanna commented, gesturing with her book.

"Mm," Jonathan replied noncommittally. Alanna smiled, exhaling through her nose in a fraction of a laugh. They _never_ really had much to say.

"There is a banquet tomorrow night," Jon said, remembering suddenly. "I have to make nice with my own northern nobles."

"More about the potatoes?" Alanna asked, sighing heavily.

"Probably. And pending drought. There are a lot of important things to discuss, none of them positive."

They said a great deal, Alanna thought; they just never really had much to say.

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~* And the dangling conversation,

And the superficial sighs

Are the borders of our lives. *~

"I hear affairs aren't good in Sarain," Alanna commented, striking up a new strain of conversation.

"They're in civil war," Jonathan confirmed. "After the queen, Kalasin, committed suicide, things really went to hell with the K'mir. The lowlanders' wars with the tribes and the starvation caused by the lack of tended farms have combined to decimate the population."

"Is it true that their warlord – _jin _Wilima – was assassinated?" Alanna asked dubiously.

"And the heir to the throne – Princess Thayet _jian _Wilima. The rebels murdered her and a sizable group of refugees, along with the K'mir protecting her. There is total anarchy there now," Jon informed Alanna, his tone dark.

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~* Yes, we speak of things that matter,

With words that must be said: *~

"It's hard to say what's worse – anarchy or tyranny," Alanna mused.

"You mean – Sarain or Carthak," Jon said dryly.

"In both places, there is widespread starvation. The difference is that in Sarain, there is also unstoppable fighting, killing, fear, and hate; and in Carthak, there is slavery, and the common people are hungry while the emperor and his favored nobles feast and are waited upon hand and foot."

"Indeed, nearly impossible to choose the lesser of two great evils."

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~* 'Can analysis be worthwhile?'

'Is the theater really dead?' *~

Alanna and Jon returned to their books at the same time, having spoken about national and international affairs, and having nothing left to talk about. The sun set outside the window, casting beautiful rays of scarlet and gold on still faces, archaic words, and the expanse of silent, carpeted space between the sofa and the armchair, between Alanna and Jonathan.

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~* And how the room is softly faded…*~

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Alanna lay awake in the darkness, still breathing hard, reflecting. The only really passionate aspect of their relationship was sexual, Alanna was frank enough to silently admit to the empty air. The ember stone that the Goddess had given her a long time ago, when she was Jonathan's squire and friend, rested as a familiar weight against the base of her throat. Alanna's hand reached for it instinctively, and found it dark and cold. She normally took this as a sign of safety, but now it seemed to her that the comforting presence of the Goddess was gone from her life, now that she was queen and settled wife…

She looked over at the bedside table. The amulet that Mistress Cooper had given her was abandoned there, a slight gold glint in the meager light the moon lent. It was a charm against pregnancy, against the responsibilities of a woman of the conservative society. Now that she no longer wandered or did battle, Alanna was no longer challenging the bounds of traditional gender roles. And for what? For whom…

Alanna's eyes shifted to Jonathan, breathing deeply and rhythmically in his sleep beside her. His noble face, his shining, coal-black hair were beautiful. Alanna knew every curve of his handsome body, every nuance of the lips she kissed. But she didn't know the witty, funny, friendly, even, at times, silly Jonathan who didn't act like the crown prince, the Jonathan who was her best friend when she was a page.

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~* And I only kiss your shadow,

I cannot feel your hand;

You're a stranger now unto me…*~

Alanna turned onto her side to face the wall. Jon talked grimly about potato famines, wars in Sarain, coffee trade. He never gossiped, laughed, or said 'I love you' randomly. This serious, responsible king was not the man she had wanted to marry. But gazing at the pregnancy charm gleaming faintly in the dark, she knew she was bound to royalty.

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~* Lost in the dangling conversation,

And the superficial sighs…*~

But how could she have known that Jonathan would disappear when he was replaced in her life by 'the King'?

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~* In the borders of our lives. *~

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Author's Note II: To further explore the "what if" question: Alanna never would have gone to Port Caynn to visit George because she wouldn't have had the fight with Jon; she would have been in Corus when Thom was there, and would have reasoned with him not to let Delia's taunts bother him – Thom would still be alive. If Jon had already married Alanna, Josiane wouldn't have been a candidate for Jon's wife – Faithful would still be alive. As queen of Tortall, she wouldn't have been in Maren, and she wouldn't have gone questing for the Dominion Jewel, not having the map; she never would have met Liam. She wouldn't have traveled into Sarain and met Thayet. The trend of K'mir seeking refuge in Tortall wouldn't have been started, there might not be a "Queen's Riders," and a certain thirteen-year-old girl from Galla would not have been found and hired on to drive ponies to Tortall, leaving immortals to run rampant. So Thom, Liam, and Faithful would not die, but the world would very likely come to an end. You win some, you lose some, eh? But that's a story for another day.

Today, you can read my stories and leave reviews! I wrote another Tamora Pierce songfic, "Hallelujah," and I've written beaucoup de _Harry Potter_ and _Lord of the Rings_ fanfiction. Also "Inuyasha" and _Ender's Game_ if you're at all interested.


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